MF1.0 - 70 - Living Dead Girl
Ryan looked down at the little girl, she was hugging the red-haired doll, apparently without a care in the world. It was amazing that, so close to death - having just died in point of fact - playing with the doll seemed to be the only thing on her mind. Humans really were amazing. He looked to the lady. ‘May I take her back now?’ Death stood silently for a moment, then shook her head, frowning with the human half of her face. ‘She has not said yes yet.’ He tried to form a protest - children at age barely had a vocabulary, let alone the ability to form sentences or the ability to ask such a thing. She wouldn’t-'' ''Something grabbed his leg, his initial reaction was to kick, but he stilled the instinct and looked down. The girl was hugging his leg, the doll hanging limply in the crook of her arm. She mumbled something that sounded like “thank you”. He looked back at the Lady, she was smiling. ‘Now she has,’ she said. He knelt and picked up the girl. ‘Time to go home Stephanie.’ ‘Don’t say that,’ Death said. ‘You know there’s a chance she won’t make it back. Are you still willing to take that chance with her life?’ He stood this ground. ‘This was my mistake. I need to correct it.’ ‘You’re doing this out of guilt.’ ‘I could have handled the situation better.’ ‘Not guilt about this,’ she clarified. ‘This is about the other girl.’ He swallowed and simply stared at Death there was no point in arguing the sisters knew everything - your motivations, your choices your thoughts. It was impossible to keep anything from them. A small hand reached up and pushed on his face. ‘Dun cry!’ Death stared at him. ‘I just don’t want you to make another mistake out of guilt.’ ‘We couldn’t,’ he choked. ‘Have predicted what happened with Carol. I can’t undo that mistake, I’m not trying to make up for it-’ Her stare cut through him. ‘Yes. You are.’ ‘My Lady, I am going to take this child home.’ ‘By their traditions,’ she said after a long moment, ‘you’ll be responsible for her.’ ‘No,’ he countered. ‘Everyone is responsible for themselves. Their own mistakes. Their own choices. Their own lives. To imply outside responsibility implies they lack the will to be responsible.’ ‘This is still your choice?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You have to know this will affect her.’ ‘She’s a child, she won’t remember.’ ‘Believe what you wish.’ She lifted a hand and a door into the darkness appeared. He felt the child tense up and hold him tighter. ‘Don’t be afraid, Stephanie, I’m taking you home.’ He bowed his head to the Lady and stepped through the door and into the darkness. He hated the darkness, the disassociation and the urge to sink through it. Slowly, but surely, the made their way “up”, sometimes walking, sometimes floating, sometimes simply drifting. The journey always seemed to be a slow one, even though it took no actual time. They broke through the surface into the living world and the child screamed. He’d had the experience described to him, it was like living and dying in the same moment, it was like all of the pain of your life all at once, it was like being born again. He expected a parent to come running. He expected…something, but nothing happened. He patted the child on the back to calm her a little. The soul had merged with the corpse, she was covered in blood but all of the injuries were gone, only the memory remained, and that would soon fade. He shifted her so that he could hold her in his left arm, and the bullet slipped to the floor. He stepped to the side, stared at it, then stamped on it. He required the body of the cultist away - there was no need to call a clean-up crew, the less impact they had on civilians, the better. He put the child in the playpen, let the side down and crouched in front of her. A quick requirement had her in a clean set of clothes. All of the evidence was gone. The other occupants of the property apparently oblivious. There was no need for cover stories or explanations. A successful operation. It didn’t feel like a victory. The child put the doll down, got up and crossed the playpen, held out her arms and fell against him. ‘Play?’ she asked as she hugged his head. He heard footsteps down the hall - finally, someone had noticed - and gently pushed her away. ‘Later,’ he lied. ‘Goodbye,’ he said as he shifted away. He signed the report and closed the blue folder. It sat there for a moment, then disappeared. The pain in his shoulder was gone - Jones had done his usual efficient job of repairing his injuries, though he doubted his recruit’s wound would heal quite so quickly, let alone the associated feelings. Save for the fact that Kane was a masochistic psychopath who took great pleasure in torturing recruits to death, rather than killing them outright, she would have been dead, and his injuries more extensive. However, psychosis hadn’t been the only factor, her cover story had also been rather effective - thought it had worked because the Solstice believed them capable of such evil. He stood and lifted his coat - he’d thrown it over the back of the chair on instinct, he hadn’t required a new one since arriving back at the Agency. There was a dark stain from where the bullet had gone into his shoulder. He ran his fingers over the stain, it was still blood, given enough time, it would flake away as ash and disappear. The blood from his recruit’s wound, however, was a much larger half-dried mess that had soaked through onto his chair. He removed the transfer order from the inside pocket and tore it up. She’d proven herself, if she wanted to go to the tech department, she could request it herself, he saw no a reason to sign the order. He required a new jacket and a new chair then left the office. Down the hall and around the corner toward the recruit dorms. The other recruits weren’t anywhere to be seen, they usually went out at night, on patrol, on an assignment, or simply to enjoy the nightlife as proof they were still alive. He knocked on Stef’s door. No answer. She was in there - he could see her life sign on his scanner. Sleep was a possibility, but not a certainty. He knocked again, louder - something the tech recruits had taught him was that hackers liked their music loud. Still no answer. He held onto the handle, made a requirement and the door popped open easily. She wasn’t in the main room, nor the kitchenette. The bathroom door was open the room and empty. The standard bed was too low to the ground to be hidden under. That only left one possibility. The wardrobe. He made a mental note to check the wardrobe first from now on, she obviously had a penchant for hiding in them. ‘Stef?’ There was the sound of a head colliding with the interior wall of the wardrobe, some swearing and the tumbling of small objects. He guessed, by the discarded packets outside of the wardrobe’s door, that she had spilt a package of chocolate-covered coffee beans. ‘Stef?’ ‘You’re supposed to knock!’ came her irritated answer. ‘I could have been naked. Hell, I could be naked in here, you don’t know!’ ‘Are you?’ ‘That’s not the point!’ He reached for the handle, but a lock and chain appeared over both of them. It would have only delayed him a second, but he was able to take a hint. ‘I didn’t sign the transfer order.’ She gave no answer. ‘If you want to go to the tech department, that’s your choice, but you’re free to stay under my command.’ He heard the sound of a laptop being closed. ‘I didn’t scream.’ This he knew that all too well. He’d heard the shot, but not a scream or a cry, he’d thought that she was dead. He’d expected her body to fall and to have a one-armed fight with a Solstice. ‘It was the shock,’ he reasoned. ‘No.’ He heard her shifting around in the wardrobe. ‘It wasn’t. I stopped screaming about the time I figured out that no matter how much you scream, you don’t get rescued.’ ‘You didn’t need anyone to rescue you.’ There was a pause before she answered. ‘Not tonight.’ ‘There’s something I want to ask you.’ The lock and chain disappeared. ‘Do you want to leave?’ ‘Why would I want to leave?’ ‘An injury like this, it forces a perspective about what you’ve signed up for. I’m just giving you the option.’ ‘You this nice too all the recruits, or just the suicidally stupid ones?’ ‘We give all the recruits the same opportunities, you aren’t obligated to stay any longer than you wish.’ The wardrobe door was pushed open a little. ‘This is a nice wardrobe. It’s not pretty, but it’s roomy.’ ‘Can I ask-?’ ‘One of them has to lead to Narnia, and they’re a good place to hide.’ The door was pushed open a little more. He saw her face in the back of the dark wardrobe and it took him a moment to work out what was different - she’d been crying. ‘Am I dead?’ ‘No.’ ‘Are you sure? I’m not just another one of adorable zombie girls?’ ‘There’s no such thing as zombies.’ ‘Seriously?’ ‘Well, there are the trashmaids, but they wouldn’t fit your description of a - why are you asking this?’ ‘If I’m alive, like really alive, then why aren’t I afraid of dying? I saw a godsdamn monster and I all I could think about was his accent, some scary narc shot at me, twice, and I wasn’t that scared-’ ‘I’m sure that the “narc” is sorry and was only doing it to get your attention.’ ‘I should need therapy…more so than I did before. I should be wanting to run home. I should…If I’m alive, then why-?’ ‘Death’s realm. When you go into it, it feels like going home, to the place you are most content, most happy. Those that have died and come back, most want to return to that. Some take their second chances and live them to the full, others find that nothing can compare to that feeling. Others…simply become a little accident-prone, only to have their luck run out.’ ‘Getting shot wasn’t an accident.’ ‘No, it was a choice, which means you’re acting under your own free will. To truly take responsibility for your own actions is a goal that is beyond most. If you choose to be here, you’ll stay. If you choose to feel dead, you will. If you choose to-’ ‘Consume mass quantities of ice-cream, you’ll indulge me?’ ‘Is that what you choose?’ ‘Free will. Responsibility. Ice-cream, it’s all the same, right?’ ‘As you wish,’ he said as he shifted them away. Category:MF1.0